


Dawn of a New Day

by Rhysanoodle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysanoodle/pseuds/Rhysanoodle
Summary: An introduction to Sol, an OC partner for Mor thought up by my dear friend, sncinder, over on Tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

“One hot chocolate mudslide, please.” Sol rubbed her hands together, shifting uncomfortably as she waited for her drink. **  
**

She’d been living in Winter for a couple of decades now, but she was still quite positive that she’d never get used to the year-round freeze she was subjected to.

Riding the horses around the palace gardens was a good way to warm up after a long day spent toiling in the stables, yet still, every evening she found herself bolting straight back to her cozy cottage on the outskirts of the grounds, content to simply sit beside the fire and warm herself to the core with hot chocolate before collapsing in bed.

But Clara, a fellow horse trainer in the High Lord’s stables, had been asking her to go out at night with her latest group of friends for weeks now, and Sol was all out of excuses.

So here she was at the Blue Rose, ordering an alcoholic version of her beloved hot chocolate, in an attempt to loosen up as she got warm. 

Even the insides of the buildings were freezing here, at least to her sensibilities, she thought as she fought to control shivers. 

She’d grown up in Day, living in a small oasis town in the middle of their vast desert. Riding horses through the open expanses had become her way to make her own meager life there seem just a little bit larger.

Sure, she missed her family back home, but she’d never been content like her mother and brothers had by the opportunities in that backwater town.

When she was only ten, Sol’s father had been murdered, and so had her exposure to the world. 

He had used his trading company to front for a small resistance against Amarantha, and when her eldest brother had fallen in with the witch, her brother had been forced to prove his loyalty by eliminating his traitorous kin.

Even though Helion had ordered his execution after the war had ended, there was still a gaping wound haunting her family.

Sol’s father had always taken his children on his trading missions to the capitol in turns, and once her mother became a shut-in in their hovel of a home, Sol had felt the overwhelming need to get out.

So, the second the dark queen was vanquished and the courts opened their borders again, she did. 

Not only did she leave that quaint little village but the Day Court entirely, wandering from city to city, court to court. Sometimes she’d stay months, others decades, but she’d never fully settled down.

She’d find a job, make new friends, and stay until she got that itch again.

This stint in Winter had been good to Sol. The High Lord and the Lady of Winter were kind to her and paid her well, and she’d be sorry to leave their employ, but now that she was thinking about it, she hadn’t really been spreading her wings lately, content to simply relax at home after work instead of branching out and socializing with her friends.

The new ‘friends’ who were currently poking fun at her for ordering a hot beverage, as they lounged in their booth, sipping frozen drinks in their snazzy, revealing dresses. 

Sol tried to shrink into the corner as she reluctantly slipped of her overcoat, exposing the long-sleeved forest green gown Clara had pulled out of the back of her closet earlier, designed to cover as many inches of her skin as possible.

Oh how she missed the light, flowing attire of Day. Perhaps a move to Summer soon would do her a bit of good. She lived for the casual, loose tops and pants she’d grown up with, which had been rotting in a chest, shoved into the back of her closet ever since she’d arrived.

“What’s the lineup for tonight?” asked someone whose name Sol believed was Jasper or Jesper. She couldn’t quite remember what he’d said when they’d shaken hands as she sat down.

Sometimes, when she’d made up her mind to move, she lost interest in meeting and memorizing new faces. She’d forget them soon enough. But she intended to stay in contact with Clara when she left, so perhaps she should be trying more tonight.

Taking a huge swig of her mudslide, she leaned across the table and answered, “I heard that after them,” she indicated the instrumental band currently providing some mellow background music, “there’s a fairly up-and-coming singer named Elora Lorraine performing.”

In fact, Sol had actually been wanting to attend one of the female’s performances. She’d overheard two dignitaries from Dawn talking about how riveting their night at the Blue Rose had been as she saddled their horses a few weeks ago.

She hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to convince herself to go until Clara had invited her out, but it was the perfect chance to check out the scene for herself.

Sol was no stranger to jazz—or music in general. She’d sought out the arts as soon as she was on her own, exploring the world. 

A well-played symphony or exquisite theatrical performance were still enough to bring back the nostalgia of those early years when she’d crammed her free time with as much culture as she could soak in.

Indeed, she’d even taken a crack at playing various instruments across the centuries: mandolin, saxophone, horns. They’d never held her attention for long enough though, as she preferred to lose herself in the music, and she fumbled clumsily at the instruments, not feeling that her talents were up-to-par with the lovely notes she heard flowing from those of the performers she’d listened to.

Well into her second drink, as she was beginning to loosen up and had gotten deep into what Sol thought was a rather silly conversation with a barely-matured Fae named Hana about snacks they fed their horses while they waited for the band to return from their break with the main act in tow. 

Couldn’t they be bothered to ask her anything even a bit more personal? She dealt with horses all day every day, so this was far from the escape she’d desired right now.

Since berries were rare in Winter, due to the unfortunate fact that they needed to be imported, the other female was honest-to-gods astonished to learn that they were actually a favorite treat she used as a reward. 

In Winter, it was customary to treat them with apples and oranges, which were in season year-round in their specialized greenhouses, and since Hana only rode her family’s horses occasionally, that’s all she had ever known.

All of a sudden, the house lights dimmed, and Sol cast a glance toward the stage. The crowd noise lowered from a thunderous din to a soft murmur as a spotlight flipped on, perfectly illuminating center stage and the lone microphone awaiting its mistress.

The band picked up once again, and then _she_ walked on stage.

Sol’s breath caught in her throat as she beheld the wondrous female. Elora was petite, but curvy, walking with an air of swagger as she worked her way up to the microphone. 

Her hair the deepest red-orange of a sunset cascaded in loose curls down her spine, the color deepening at the ends and blending effortlessly with the rich cranberry-colored cut-out gown hugging every supple curve of her frame. 

She was warmth and radiance incarnate, Sol thought as she shivered now for an entirely different reason.

When she took up the microphone, the murmur quieted, as if everyone else was also drawn under her spell.

Her back to the audience, glancing aloofly to the side, the female began snapping her long, delicate fingers, cueing the band to start up sultrily in the background.

The steady, lilting sizzle of the cymbal keeping the beat, the quiet thrum of the bass, and the low hum of the winds were enough to hypnotize Sol as she kept her eyes trained on the female’s mesmerizing hand, noticing how the body attached to it was beginning to sway confidently as she found her rhythm.

And then, she pivoted, facing out into the crowd and lifted her eyes to take them in, a sly smile gracing those delectable ruby-red lips, as her silky voice floated into Sol’s ears.

As she took in the piercing blue of Elora’s eyes and the subtle freckles on that sun-kissed face, peeking through even her stage makeup, Sol felt her heart skip a beat. Here was the single most gorgeous female she’d ever laid eyes on.

And Cauldron—that _voice_. It poured over Sol like smoky honey, enveloping her with its richness as Elora strutted, working that microphone as if it were a lover. The way she swayed and ground her body to the beat was the image of pure seduction.

No wonder she’d heard such high praise about her performances, because if Sol were asked in this moment what she wanted to spend the rest of her life doing, this was it.

She’d seen plenty of jazz singers perform before, but none had entranced her so thoroughly as this one female had done in a mere thirty seconds.

Perhaps it was the couple of drinks she’d already indulged in—much more than she was used to in an evening—but by the end of the first song, Sol was utterly and irrevocably in love, caught between wanting to merely close her eyes and become lost in the passionate scatting and not wanting to take her eyes off Elora for even a heartbeat. As if the ethereal female would simply disappear if Sol didn’t provide her with her undivided attention.

She was vaguely aware of the others at her table murmuring, offering to fetch her another drink or trying to have some banal, whispered conversation as the evening went on, and the enchantment of her voice had worn off on them. 

But Sol waved them off, her focus deadlocked on the veritable symphony spilling out of Elora’s lips and into her soul.

Those voluptuous cherry lips which Sol just wanted to bite down and suck on. To pin her up against the wall backstage, and see if she made the same glorious noises when she was being pleasured.

Not that Sol would be able to go through with it.

She wasn’t exactly shy when it came to love—in fact she’d usually been the one to come onto her past girlfriends, not wanting to wait too long and let them slip out of her grasp for fear of making a move.

But this female. She was in a whole other league than Sol. Some strange feeling had come over her, as if her stomach was going to launch itself up and into her throat.

Cauldron—she didn’t even know Elora, but she was still completely starstruck, flustered.

What felt like only minutes later, but she knew from the fading of her buzz must’ve been at least an hour, Elora finally finished a knock-out cover of one of Sol’s favorite songs and bowed to the raucous applause before blowing a kiss at the audience and exiting the stage.

And the spell was broken.

Sol halfheartedly waved goodbye to Clara’s friends, and the two rode back to their neighboring cottages together in silence, Sol struggling to come up with anything to talk about other than Elora Lorraine.

 _Elora, Elora, Elora._ The name thrummed incessantly in her head, and Sol knew as she took a peek a the flyer she snagged on the way out, noting all the other performances she’d have at the Blue Rose before she continued touring elsewhere, leaving Sol and Winter behind for good in the process.

* * *

This was now the eighth time Sol had come to listen in as many weeks. Even though the set list never changed, she was still as trapped in Elora’s thrall as she had been on the very first night.

Sitting in a shaded booth at the back of the club, she occasionally remembered to take periodic sips of her glass of wine as she drank in the richness of Elora’s voice. It had become like a drug to Sol, as she found herself craving it on the nights she wasn’t performing.

Her normal days off were nothing compared to this. These nights—these performances were what got her through the week. Especially on the most grueling and disgusting of days at her job.

Sol had even gone so far as to ask around to see if anyone knew where Elora Lorraine was from or where she was staying during her time in Winter.

But everything about the other female was an enigma, as even the club owners knew absolutely nothing about her at all.

And here she was, wearing by far the most flashy yet elegant gown Sol had seen yet. It was sleeveless and mermaid cut, caressing every curve and leaving little to the imagination.

Elora always wore the sexiest dresses Sol had ever seen. This one was different though. 

There were alternating brilliant gold and stunning black sequined stripes radiating out from her midsection, as if the sun itself was trying to force its way through the darkness and into Sol’s heart.

Combined with the black silk gloves and shimmering pins holding the curls off her face tonight, she was a vision. A divine being sent down from the Cauldron for Sol’s pure euphoria and pleasure.

Her set passed by way too quickly for Sol’s liking, but this time she decided to stick around afterwards. 

She’d been trying to work up the courage to talk to Elora these past few months, and tonight was the night.

Sometimes the glorious female came down into the audience and socialized with the club owner and those brave enough to approach her, signing autographs as well. That was Sol’s way in, and maybe, just maybe, she could strike up enough of a conversation to get to know Elora a bit before her nerves got the best of her.

It’s not that she was unkind—far from it if the belly-laugh-inducing conversations she’d seen her have with others were any indication. There was just so much riding on this moment for Sol that she was utterly intimidated by the other female.

Perhaps she was uninterested in other females—it wasn’t exactly a common enough thing to hope for. Perhaps she was in a relationship already. Or perhaps, she’d completely write Sol off as uninteresting, which would surely strike the most visceral blow.

As she crept her way to the front of the venue as others cleared out, she found her hands sweating, the flyer becoming sticky in her grip.

She was only a few feet away now, standing behind a group of friends who had all come together and were worshipping the ground Elora Lorraine walked on when Elora suddenly looked over their heads and locked eyes with Sol.

Elora’s eyes widened a bit, and Sol panicked, backing away a step the second she turned away. And then another. Until she had collided with the door to the washroom, and gratefully slipped inside before Elora could glance back up and wonder where the strange female who’d been gawking at her had gone.

Because surely that’s what she had thought about Sol. Nobody would have that strange of a reaction to glimpsing a total stranger otherwise.

This was a fairly large and high-end jazz club, so there were ample stalls available for her perusal. 

Sol ran to the furthest one, in the dimly lit corner of the chamber, and didn’t even bother locking the door she slammed behind her as she took a seat, fully-dressed, and put her head in her hands.

This had been her night. She’d spent months pining over the illustrious female only to chicken out at the last possible second, and all the effort she’d thrown into taming her riotously curly hair and wearing a flowing, floor-length, crimson sundress tonight had all gone to waste.

She’d noticed that Elora seemed to prefer these bright colors, and while Sol would rather be caught dead than wearing a dress most days, at least this one was still loose enough not to feel completely restricting as she made her move. 

Or not, as it seemed.

Sol didn’t know how long exactly she sat there, only vaguely noting the comings and goings of a handful of others actually in need of the facilities. But eventually the trickle died down, and she figured she probably needed to exit the club eventually so they could close up for the evening.

As another patron entered the washroom, Sol did her best to wipe at her eyes, to hide any potential evidence that a few frustrated tears had escaped her.

Normal. She was just going to act normal, as if she’d simply been using the restroom like anyone else and not sulking in here for the past half hour.

As she swung the door open, her mouth dropped as she beheld a mane of auburn morphing into one of burnished gold. She must’ve let out a soft sigh because, at that, Elora whipped her head around. Except… 

It was her but not her. 

Where Sol had once gazed upon crystalline blue eyes, she now spotted a glistening caramel. And the freckles had faded as well, but there was no mistaking that this was Elora. She was still even in the same dress as earlier, hypnotizing Sol as it shimmered faintly under the dim lights and drawing her eye.

Elora cast a furtive glance to the door back to the club, which Sol now noticed was locked. She must’ve thought nobody was still around and had come in here to change—and glamour herself apparently. But _why_?

“Please don’t tell anyone …” Elora immediately pleaded with Sol, her voice much softer and brighter now than it had been while singing. But it was still mesmerizing.

Sol just nodded, dumbstruck for a second, before murmuring, “I promise I won’t tell anyone that you were glamouring yourself to sneak out unseen.”

Elora sighed, bringing a hand frustratedly to her head. “It’s not even that. Now that you’ve seen me, I guess it can’t hurt to let you in on the secret. Elora Lorraine doesn’t exist. This is me. The real me. I’m Morrigan, but most people call me Mor.”

Morrigan. _The_ Morrigan from the Wars. A veritable legend amongst the Fae of Prythian was here, masquerading as a jazz performer, and somehow admitting all this to Sol.

“Soleil. But I go by Sol.” She hadn’t spoken her full name in decades, wishing to always introduce herself by the much-preferred nickname, but here she was, unraveled by that molten gaze and unable to think straight. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to your business. I was just …” She glanced down in shame, knowing that Mor would likely be able to sense the lie if it rolled off her tongue. Such were the rumors of her gift.

But before she could move a muscle toward the door, Mor had taken a few steps toward her, gazing up into her downturned face. With Mor’s heels discarded in the corner of the room, Sol only now noticed the height difference between the two of them, the half of a foot she had on the tiny female, who was looking into her eyes fiercely.

“Why did you run away from me earlier?” It was a cautious question, as if she was assessing what to think of Sol.

“I just … You looked up at me with such intensity … As if you were jolted when our eyes locked … And I didn’t think that was a good thing … I thought … I thought perhaps I offended you somehow or I was too intense in the way I was staring at you …” Sol trailed off. She was just digging herself more holes right now.

And indeed she was trembling a bit.

Cauldron boil her. She’d never been this jittery around another female before. And while being in the presence of the Morrigan had astounded her, she’d already been feeling this overwhelming and nerve wracking desire since the moment she laid eyes on Mor weeks ago.

“You might’ve been mistaking the expression on my face. Because the moment I locked eyes with you … I felt like I somehow knew you. I know this sounds crazy, because we’ve never met before, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that you felt familiar. Like home. And then when that other group of fans finally left and I searched around for you, you were nowhere to be found. And I’ll admit that I was a bit disappointed.”

Sol’s heart skipped a beat as she finally dared a faint smile. “I’ve been enthralled by you since the moment I laid eyes on you and heard you open that delicious mouth of yours.” 

She was growing more confident by the second, not caring if she made her full intentions clear to Mor now. Somehow, she also felt this safety, this _home_ as Mor had described it, as Mor’s eyes softened, those impeccable lips splitting into an enormous grin.

“Weeks ago, if I’m being honest. I’ve come to every show of yours for weeks now, trying to work up the the courage to even talk to you. This so isn’t like me, I—”

But she wasn’t given the opportunity to finish as Mor rose on her toes, her lips crashing against Sol’s.

She tasted delectably sweet, like summer berries mixed with the intoxicating red wine she’d been sipping on earlier, and as her tongue swept into Sol’s mouth, flirting and playing with her own, Sol lost all her previous inhibitions.

She reached down, cupping Mor’s face in her hands as she deepened the kiss, her fingers buried deep into Mor’s silky golden locks.

When they both finally came up for air, Mor looked as thoroughly wrecked as Sol felt inside, as if she was finally seeing clearly for the first time.

“Would you … Would you like to come back to my place? It’s nothing special, but …”

“I’d love to,” Mor beamed as she reached for her bag, only now realizing that she was still in Elora’s attire.

Indeed, as they both took looks in the mirror, they noticed their smudged lipsticks, the small but noticeable running of Sol’s eyeliner, and they went about cleaning themselves up while Mor changed into something more comfortable.

Ten minutes later, they snuck out the side door of the Blue Rose and rode back to Sol’s cottage, bundled together atop her mare.

Once they were safely inside and away from the harsh Winter winds, Mor lit the fire, Sol made them both hot chocolate, and they both cuddled in front of it in pairs of Sol’s pajamas whose pant legs were adorably pooling around Mor’s feet.

They whispered secrets between soft kisses throughout the night, until the hours just before sunrise found them both yawning and drifting off.

And as Sol awoke the next morning, fire still blazing, and Mor snuggled into her chest, she mused on just how blessed she’d been by fate to stumble upon Mor. 

And she was hopeful. For the first time since she’d left Day, she felt like she had a compass pointing her in the direction her life should take.


	2. Chapter 2

“Whoa, Ellia,” Mor shouted as she slowed to a stop next to Sol. They were miles out from Athelwood now, and somehow Mor hadn’t even heard her girlfriend signal for her horse to stop. Probably because, as much of a horse lover as Mor was, Sol was infinitely more in tune with the beasts. **  
**

Mor chuckled to herself as she contemplated just how lucky she was to have randomly found a partner so in sync with her feelings, her emotions, her habits.

Though it was no coincidence that they had met. 

Sol had felt the same magnetic tug to Mor that Mor had sensed the moment she had looked into the beauty’s eyes. And she had kept her coming back for more and more, until that fated night in the washroom.

When she had first met Sol, Mor had sensed something restless and untamed in the other female. She seemed to be itching under her skin to just keep moving and searching for whatever it was she was trying to find.

But as those early morning hours rolled on, Sol’s demeanor began to visibly relax, finally becoming at ease in Mor’s presence, her head finally falling into the crook of Mor’s neck as they lazed before the fireplace.

For the first time in centuries, Mor had questioned what she was doing with her life. Since things had settled after the war and her trip to be an ambassador on the continent, she just hadn’t been able to stay in Velaris for any length of time.

All her friends had been so _happy_ with their new mates, their new spouses. Cauldron, even _Amren_ had found someone to settle down with, even if the two had never wed. She and Varian had been splitting time between Velaris and Adriata for six decades, still maintaining their roles as second-in-command to Night and Summer while tumbling in what had to be diamond-encrusted sheets in all their free time.

Touring Prythian—becoming Verity Vanille—had been Mor’s escape. She would always make excuses about her frequent travels, the others too distracted to notice that she was rarely “home” for more than a few weeks at a time unless Rhys and Feyre truly needed her out of the blue. And no one ever questioned why Verity ventured no farther north than Day.

It had felt so liberating, like the right thing to do—until that moment she had first held Sol in her arms and known that something had been seriously lacking in her life, a gaping hole which she had flimsily hidden and ignored by throwing a tarp over it thrown wide open again. For the first time since those grueling days when the wall went up and she lost Andromache.

In the evenings which followed, Mor had stayed with Sol. She had originally not wanted to impose, but at the pleading look in Sol’s eyes, perfectly reflecting the same desperation and longing Mor felt for the ethereal female, she relented.

While Sol had worked, finishing her contract out with Kallias and Viviane, Mor relaxed, going out in the day in disguise and spending her evenings in, sharing tales of her life with Sol.

The young female had not had an easy childhood either. Death, familial betrayal, and a certain disquiet had followed her since childhood as well, and once Sol had become comfortable in her own skin around Mor, Mor could see the confidence rolling off her in waves. This was someone who had grown and evolved from her hardships, not letting them define her, even if her wanderlust had prevented her from ever settling down.

How had Mor been so lucky to find this exquisite female?

A few months later, once Sol’s stint in Winter was finished, Mor had brought her back here. To her true home. And the two had been snuggling beneath the sheets and riding through the forests, relishing in the crisp spring winds whipping at their faces.

Sol had even broken out her “forgotten wardrobe” as she had described it to Mor. Underneath the sweaters, her girlfriend was now donning loose-fitting shirts and flowing pants, and acting as if she could just _breathe_ for the first time in decades.

As Ellia trotted up behind Sol, Mor basked in her beauty. They had reached a small clearing with a stream, and the late afternoon sunlight was gently brushing her velvety brown skin, the freckles on her cheeks glowing, her riotously curly hair haloed by the sun’s brilliance as Sol closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“This is the first time I’ve been able to feel the sun on my skin in ages. There’s life here. This is the closest I’ve been to home in a long time,” she breathed.

“We could always go visit,” Mor murmured tentatively. Sol had told her about the strained relations back in her hometown, how her family had been cleaved and some wounds had festered, leaving her dying to escape.

“I’m not sure I’m ready.” Sol turned the upper half of her body until she was facing Mor, who had finally caught up.

“Or we could visit my family’s estate,” Mor offered up. “The one in Velaris, not those monsters at the heart of the Night Court.” Voicing the thought aloud caused a small pang of nausea to form in her stomach as her heart soared in her chest. Surely Sol could hear its banging— _thump thump thump_ —knocking on the doors of her ribcage and begging to be freed.

“Your cousin? The High Lord?” Sol’s face was a mask of solemnity, and Mor was frightened that perhaps she had pushed her lover too far.

“If you’re enjoying these wildflowers, you’ll love the gardens of his estate. The grounds are enormous, and I swear there are the most well-thought-out arrangements on all the continent to stroll through. It doesn’t hurt to have a sister who lives and breathes flowers. As well as the sweets. We know some of the court’s best pastry chefs. In fact one of them is that same sister … Elain. I’m not sure how Azriel got so lucky.” She huffed a laugh to herself. Mother above, she was rambling her ass off, and somehow she was realizing that she _needed_ Sol to say yes—it was absolutely vital that she accept the offer—here and now.

She had brought no one home to her family. Ever. 

Feyre was still the only one who knew of her preference for females, as far as Mor was aware. But, if it meant bringing Sol into her family, somehow she would find a way to stomach the conversation, to subject herself to becoming the source of court gossip for the next few years at least. She would open up this part of her soul to the world if it meant she got to _keep_ Sol.

“I suppose that would be nice, though I was wishing to get to spend a little more of my vacation alone with you,” Sol teased, a fire smouldering in her seafoam eyes, sunlight hitting the crest of a wave.

“I wouldn’t dare deprive you of the pleasure,” Mor purred back, now wishing they were suddenly miles closer to home.

She hopped off Ellia, grabbing a blanket from her saddlebag, and beckoning Sol to follow her to the shore of the stream, picking a spot directly next to a patch of midnight blue poppies and plucking one out of the ground to twirl between her fingers.

“I could stay here with you forever, I think. Safe in this little bubble of ours, but I want to bring you into that world. I want you to meet my family, crazy though the whirlwind of their personalities will be. I want to be in the open about you so the _world_ can be ours, not just this small strip of land.”

“I think I would like that very much. You still haven’t—”

“Told them? Cauldron, no. I’ve never felt the need to do so before now. I mean Feyre knows, but it’s been our little secret for decades, and mine to bear alone for centuries. I think … I think I like the idea of them finally seeing all of me though. As long as you’ll be my date?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Sol, now relaxing on the blanket, pulled Mor into her chest,and planted a kiss firmly in her hair as Mor melted into her arms.

* * *

“So when did you want to visit Velaris?” Mor finally asked between bites of chicken.

The two had devolved into a fit of riotous flirtation in that meadow—stolen kisses, roaming hands, and giggles breaking up the conversation which had led to one of the most joyous afternoons of Mor’s life in recent memory.

“Next week? The week after? For the holidays? I’m not exactly picky. I hear their best singer has been missing in action for months, so I’m not chomping at the bit to leave this place.” Sol flashed her those wicked eyes which had Mor

“If you miss my performances that much, I’m sure I could arrange for a private show for you.”

“Oh, I _much_ prefer the latest _performances_ that you’ve been putting on for me.”

“Is that a yes to being graced with my angelic voice?”

“Of course it is,” Sol laughed. “Though those pretty little tunes aren’t the only thing you’re going to be singing tonight. I’m pretty sure my name is also on the setlist tonight. Over and over, as you curse my tongue.”

That fast, Mor had forgotten all about the mostly-finished meal in front of her, her world narrowing to the glowing female before her. Her eucalyptus and lavender scent assaulted Mor’s nostrils as she felt herself physically jerk towards Sol, even with the table sitting between them.

But when she looked down, she had not moved at all, but this strange sensation, this gravity in her core unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“Was that …” Sol whispered.

Mor’s eye’s shot up, locking with Sol’s and noticing the same confused expression, her girlfriend’s—no, _mate’s_ —eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes … I feel it too.”

“Morrigan …”

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Sol nodded. “I love you too, Mor.”

“You’re still so young though. I don’t want … I don’t want you to latch yourself to me if you’re not absolutely sure it’s what you want forever. I’ll still be here whenever you’re ready—”

“Cauldron. Do you even hear yourself? I’ve never been with anyone longer than a few weeks, and yet here I am living with you already. I’ve told you how much I love you in every conceivable way imaginable.” Mor’s blood heated at the memories. “And since that first moment we connected, I haven’t once questioned where I’ll go next because this hole inside of me which I was trying to fill with new experiences suddenly isn’t there—isn’t aching in my core—anymore.”

“We—we don’t have to do anything tonight though,” Mor stammered, flinching as Sol leapt out of her chair and in a heartbeat had closed the distance between them, the bond between them somehow tautening even as Sol advanced, and forced her way into Mor’s lap.

“I’ll be damned if I can wait another second,” Sol growled, crushing Mor’s mouth with her own. How was Mor supposed to think straight with her mate running her tongue along the seam of her lips? How was she supposed to be the rational one here when her mate’s canines were now tugging tantalizingly on her bottom lip?

It was a madness she had never experienced before, a frenzied passion which every fiber of her being, her very soul, was rallying behind. And if she hadn’t been head over heels for Sol already, she certainly was damned now.

“We’ll need to make something,” she breathed as she briefly came up from air before returning her attention to Sol’s sumptuous lips.

“You roasted the chicken. I mashed the potatoes. I see no reason why we can’t do this right here, right now.” Sol was distracted now, fumbling around on the table, until she turned back to Mor, clutching a fork in each hand.

“We’ll serve each other together,” she murmured as she handed Mor the fork loaded with poultry. On the count of three …”

“One.”

Mor did her best to hide how much her hand was shaking, though the clinking bangles on her wrist were a dead giveaway.

“Two.”

This was by far the most rash and yet most exhilarating moment of her life.

“Three.”

The fork passed her lips at the same moment Sol opened up for her bite.

One moment she was standing on dry land, the next she had been dropped into an icy river, and the only way to get warm was to consume as much of Sol’s presence as she could. There was no other way to describe the sheer hunger for the divine female in front of her. _Her mate._

Mor growled as she fought to rise. She was tempted to take Sol right then and there on the table, but found herself being shoved back into her own chair, her mate’s body lowering to the floor, where she began to lift the hems of Mor’s skirt until Mor was all but bared before her, a thin scrap of fabric separating Sol from her target.

But the incredibly unsubstantial undergarments were easy enough for Sol to shove aside as two fingers slid inside her, pouring gasoline on the fire which had already been raging inside her since that split second they had accepted the bond.

Sol bent over her, mouth crashing hard against the shores of Mor’s own. Cauldron, this was worth it. Every single agonizing moment of her childhood, all those years of wandering, what felt like an eternity of hiding her true self had all led her to this moment. And she would relive them all over again in order to keep Sol in her life.

Tongues frantically colliding, Mor struggled not to hitch her breath each time Sol plunged into her. Again and again, in rhythm with their lips, only driving the frenzy further past the point of no return. Mor could feel even her own powers slipping away from her as she let off tiny bursts of light magic, truth slipping through her fingertips as she wove them deep within Sol’s curls.

She couldn’t imagine which truths were now spilling into the room, but by the way Sol pressed onward with a renewed vigor, Mor had a fairly solid idea that they must have been all the ecstasies Mor had been holding inside herself about her mate.

How much she loved her after even such a short time. How grateful she was for that chance encounter in the jazz club. How secretly relieved that Sol hadn’t taken her words to heart—that she had immediately pushed to accept the bond. How Mor intended to ravish her tonight.

Another heartbeat later and the two were flush on the nest of pillows and cushions and blankets they had laid in front of the fireplace, their favorite spot to relax in the evenings. The glow radiating off the fire illuminating her mate’s face as she knelt over Mor, not missing a beat, as if she had known before Mor had even winnowed that they’d be moving. The same way that Mor had some premonition in her gut that these fingers delving into the depths of her were not going to remain there much longer.

She was proven correct as Sol moved on her, their clothes instantly vanishing with the snap of Mor’s fingers, and the world around turned to dust and shadows.

* * *

Early the next morning, Mor and Sol lay in bed, thoroughly exhausted but grinning like fools nonetheless. They had not slept much the night before, falling prey to the bouts of unyielding desire that the fresh mating bond brought with it whenever they lay still for too long. But Mor wasn’t complaining, not as she rested her head in the crook of Sol’s neck, the frenzy seeming to have died down enough that they could just enjoy each other’s company.

She was still high on the feeling of that tug in her gut, and the way her mate purred down it while her tongue was preoccupied elsewhere that kept giving her gooseflesh, even now, having just pleasured Sol for what had to be at least the tenth time. Even now, the thought of _tasting_ her again threatened to send Mor over the edge once more.

“Easy,” Sol murmured, chest humming as Mor tilted her head up, Sol’s silky-smooth legs wrapping more tightly around Mor’s own.

“I don’t know how anyone does it. I want to stay in this house for the rest of the eternity and have you all to myself—and I don’t even have those barbaric, territorial male instincts. I don’t know how Rhys and Feyre came back to help us fight in the war.”

“And we can stay in this house for as long as you want. Cauldron knows I’m in no hurry to leave … Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you wait for all of this?”

“Of course I am. Of course—” Mor admitted.

“And, speaking of your family, I do want to meet them, if you’re still up for it,” Sol breathed, pressing a kiss into Mor’s hair.

“I’d love that. But maybe next week. I don’t think I can give you up quite yet.”

“Are you going to tell them about me … about what we are to each other?” 

“Of course. It’s not like I could hide this—or that I’d even want to.” Surely Sol couldn’t truly believe that Mor was too embarrassed to introduce her mate as such, even if it meant opening up about her most tightly-held secret.

“But perhaps we could have some fun with it?” Mor could actually hear the mischievous smile in Sol’s smoky voice.

Mor rose onto an elbow, locking onto the swirling, bright green of her mate’s eyes. “And what would that entail, exactly?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Sol crooned as her eyes flashed wickedly, and Mor lost herself once more in her honeyed lips.


End file.
